The drive passed in silence and much too quickly. He didn’t want to go to Falcone’s, didn’t want to set foot inside his house or spend even an hour with Meghan. Maybe it was Cassie and Jamey or his complete disillusionment with his mother. Maybe it was his general distaste for what he was doing or, hell, maybe it was just the damn weather, but the closer they got to the estate, the edgier he felt, the tighter his muscles knotted, the queasier his stomach got.
As they passed through the gate, Vince spoke for the first time. “Better grab a magazine or book before you leave this morning. Meghan has an appointment at the salon, then she’s meeting Jimmy for lunch at Brennan’s. This afternoon, of course, she’ll be shopping.”
There was a sarcastic bite to his last words. Reid knew most of the employees disapproved of Meghan’s free spending of Jimmy’s money. He disapproved himself every time he followed her through store after store and every time he carried bag after box to her room. Her closet and dressing room were bigger than his entire apartment and were filled to overflowing with more clothes, shoes, handbags, cosmetics and jewels than one woman could need. She was looking ahead, of course, to the days when Jimmy and his generous support were gone, stockpiling every single item she might want or need in the future. No doubt, she was also building herself a tidy little nest egg with the cash allowance Jimmy gave her every week. She didn’t intend to let the fact that she’d betrayed her boss and lover affect the quality of life she had become accustomed to.
Vince parked near the door, and Reid followed him inside. One of the servants usually announced his arrival to Meghan while he waited in the kitchen. He always had time for coffee and a roll before she finally wandered in or sent for him, plenty of time to wish like hell that he was someplace else or, better yet, someone else. Someone whose only knowledge of Jimmy Falcone came from stories in the newspaper. Someone who thought places like Serenity existed only in cities like New York and Los Angeles. Someone whose mother would never in a million years consider prostitution or a position as a gangster’s mistress acceptable occupations.
But he wasn’t someone else and, in all honesty, wouldn’t want to be. Maybe Reid Donovan didn’t have much, but he valued what he did have: a stepmother who would always forgive him, a father who might not, a stepbrother who might never know him and a chance, just a chance, with the woman who’d taught him everything he knew about love. He wouldn’t trade those things for the world.
As he was finishing his coffee, Meghan swept into the room in a cloud of perfume, perfectly dressed, perfectly made up. She looked less in need of a visit to a salon than any woman he’d ever seen, but need mattered little. Pampering did.
Remembering Vince’s recommendation, he picked up the newspaper he’d started to read, opened the door for her, then followed her to the car. Beyond a few terse directions, she didn’t speak once they’d left the estate. She was in one of her moods—had been the past few days. Sometimes she hardly seemed to notice his presence. Other times she was decidedly bitchy. He didn’t know what was bothering her and didn’t want to know. She’d dragged him deeply enough into her problems already.
At the salon, he settled into a chair near the door while Meghan disappeared into the back for what she called the works—a cut, color and style, new nails in the same full-alert red and who knew what else. This was the same place she’d brought him on his first day for a haircut—for a mere fifty bucks—and the same place where he’d spent too much time in the past two weeks waiting. A couple of hours, a couple hundred dollars, and she came out looking only marginally different than when she went in.
He read the paper and a magazine from a nearby rack, paced the length of the room and turned down an offer for coffee from the receptionist. The last thing he needed this morning was more caffeine in his system. He checked the clock every fifteen minutes, until finally, after three restless hours, he approached the desk. “Can you tell me how much longer Ms. Donovan will be?”
The woman checked the appointment book, then excused herself to ask the stylist. In less than five minutes, she returned with a puzzled look on her face. “Ms. Donovan left over two hours ago.”
Reid stared blankly at her. “What do you mean, she left? She came with me. I’ve been waiting for her. How could she...”
“She left by the back door. Over two hours ago.” The woman offered an apologetic shrug. “She told Bridget she was meeting someone.”
He felt uneasy—hell, bordering on panicky. He did not want to go to the restaurant and inform Jimmy Falcone that his mistress had slipped off to meet some unknown person. And whom could she be meeting? She didn’t have any friends. She was too self-centered, had too little to offer anyone else. A man? Maybe she was having an affair. Jimmy would take a sexual betrayal as personally as a business betrayal, but it wouldn’t be the first stupid thing Meghan had done. Or maybe it wasn’t an affair but business. Maybe she’d had something so important to pass along that she’d scheduled a meeting with Sinclair. But, damn it, if that was so, why hadn’t she told him? Whatever her reason, why had she left him hanging out to dry?
“Look, I need to talk to Bridget—”
The door opened, letting in a rush of hot, humid air, the faint scent of approaching rain and a familiar hard-set face. “She’s late for lunch,” Vince announced.
Reid looked past him to the limo double-parked out front.
At least he didn’t have to go to the restaurant... but at least they wouldn’t have killed him in the restaurant. He knew all too well that that was a very real possibility. Whatever conclusion Jimmy reached regarding her disappearance, if he suspected for a moment that Reid was somehow involved...
Swallowing hard, he turned to Vince and, in a less than steady voice, said, “She’s not here. She took off a couple of hours ago.”
The next few minutes were among the most anxious of Reid’s life. He was grilled by Vince, right there in the salon lobby, then left standing on the sidewalk with one of Jimmy’s bodyguards, listening to the rumble of thunder, while Vince broke the news to their boss. When he climbed out of the limo, he left the door open for Falcone to issue one terse order—“Get in here”—then closed it with unnecessary force behind Reid.
Since he’d come to live on Serenity, Reid had believed that no one could pack more icy contempt into a look than Jamey, but Falcone had him beat hands down. Reid couldn’t move, could hardly even breathe, under the weight of his soulless, dark gaze.
“Where did she go?” His voice was as cold, as malevolent, as his eyes. If Reid hadn’t already known that this was a man capable of cold-blooded murder, he would know now.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re her son. She must have told you something.”
“I’m her son,” he agreed, “the one she walked away from eleven years ago without a single regret. The one she never gave a thought to until she was suddenly stricken with some belated—and apparently short-lived—maternal impulse.”
“If she cares so little for you, why did she ask me to hire you?”
He shrugged, hoping it looked more casual than the jerky way it felt. “Who knows? Guilty conscience, maybe?”
Falcone laughed. “Meghan doesn’t have a conscience. You and I both know that.”
The door swung open again, and Vince joined them in the car. “The stylist says she came in, made a phone call, waited about fifteen minutes, then left the back way. When the woman went outside to have a cigarette, she saw Meghan walking to a car with a man—tall, blond, older than the kid.”
Once again Falcone fixed that nerve-stripping gaze on him. “Sound like anyone you know?”
Another unnatural shrug. “My father. But he and Meghan hate each other. He doesn’t even know she’s back in town.”
“Anyone else?”
He shook his head even as he thought the answer: Remy Sinclair. That would explain Meghan’s mood the past couple of days. Either she’d found something really important or she had believed that Jimmy was growing suspi
cious, and she had called Sinclair for help in getting out. It would also explain—beyond the fact that she’d never felt a moment’s concern for anyone besides herself—why she’d left without a word to Reid. It had probably been Sinclair’s idea. If they had both taken off, Jimmy would have gone looking for them both. This way Reid would appear to be exactly what he was: an easy-to-deceive sap. As long as Jimmy believed that, Reid was safe...and he was out of this mess.
“You’ve spent a lot of time with her lately. Did she mention any friends?”
“No.”
“Does she have any family?”
“Just me.”
“Where would she go?”
“How would I know? Yeah, I spent some time with her, and she talked a lot. You spent time with her yourself. You know that if it didn’t concern Meghan, it didn’t interest Meghan.” His surge of irritation felt completely believable. “So how does it feel to have her run out on you? She’s pretty good at it—but then, she practiced on me first. She left me with nothing when I was fifteen, and I’ve got even less now.” He gave an angry shake of his head and half whispered, “Damn her.”
Falcone studied him for a long moment, then gave a nod, apparently the driver’s signal to pull away. As he did, the rain began to fall—not a sprinkle or a gradual buildup to a downpour, but a full-fledged, thunder-and-lightning torrent that dampened Reid’s hopes of being able to get out and walk away—walk home. Those hopes were washed away completely by Falcone’s next words.
“Come stay at the house, Reid. We’ll see what we can do for you.”
Chapter 10
Recess couldn’t have come a moment too soon on Thursday morning. Maybe it was something in the air—spring fever or relief that yesterday’s line of thunderstorms had moved on—but Cassie had never seen thirteen such rowdy, restless kids in her life. Only two hours into the school day, her patience was unraveling and her nerves were frazzled. She needed to dismiss class for the day and go home. No, not home. Anywhere but there. In the past week, she had found her pretty little apartment too pretty, too little, too depressingly confining. She needed to get away from Serenity, away from all the hopes and dreams that had brought her there, away from the unhappiness that now held her. Away from her obsession with Reid.
She’d spent too many of her evenings this past week standing at the window watching his apartment. She’d seen him over there a few times, nothing more than a shadow with more substance than the shadows around him, looking back at her. The frustration was enough to make her pull her hair, stamp her feet and scream, Why? Why was he doing this? Why was he letting Falcone take away everything good in his life? If the man was threatening him, why wasn’t he asking for help? Why wasn’t he doing everything in his power to protect himself and the things important to him?
But only Reid knew the answers to those questions, and he wasn’t talking.
“Miss Cassie?”
She looked up from the workbook untouched in front of her and saw J.T. standing in the open doorway. He looked serious and on edge. “What is it, J.T.?”
“Someone wants... Reid wants to talk to you.” His message given, he spun around and ran off.
Cassie sat motionless for ten seconds, twenty, then slowly pushed her chair back and started toward the door. She saw him before she reached it, standing on the sidewalk outside the iron fence. He was wearing charcoal gray slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, and his tie was loosened around his neck. Even after two weeks, the suits still seemed foreign to her, but she had to admit that he couldn’t possibly look any handsomer unless he was naked. She missed the faded jeans, though, and the snug-fitting T-shirts. She missed the Reid she’d fallen in love with.
There was a car parked on the street behind him, a Mercedes in a deep, rich burgundy. The trunk was open, and Vince Cortese, one of Serenity’s few claims to fame—or should that be infamy?—was waiting there. As she approached, she could see the garment bags in the trunk, the same ones Reid had brought home after his first day on the job, the same ones he’d carried across the street a week ago to his new apartment.
“Moving again?”
He took a step toward her. “For a while.”
“Where?”
Guiltily he shifted his gaze to the ground. It was the only answer she needed. He was moving to Falcone’s estate. The old man had built a half-dozen guest cottages on his property to house his most trusted employees. Cortese lived in one. Nicky Carlucci had lived in one, too, until he’d turned on his boss and wound up in prison. Now Reid would be living there. That was awfully accommodating of Jimmy for a mere driver who swore he wasn’t doing anything illegal.
She curled her fingers around an iron fence post. Her knuckles whitened, and her forehead wrinkled with the scowl she summoned to keep her pleas at bay. “So why are you here? Did you come to say, ‘Goodbye... It was fun... Thanks for the sex, but I won’t need you again’?”
He came closer. She tried to back away, but too soon he was right in front of her, sliding his arm around her waist, pulling her to him with greater strength than she could resist. She tried, but not too hard. She didn’t want to frighten the children playing nearby, didn’t want to give Jaye any reason for alarm. “Let me go.”
“I can’t,” he said simply, and she knew in her heart he wasn’t talking about right this minute. Despite his messages of the past two weeks to the contrary, he did care about her—might even love her—and that knowledge almost made her melt. “Go ahead. Act angry.”
His voice was little more than a murmur, soft and intimate. To counteract the longing that was killing her inside, she pushed hard against him. “I’m not acting. I am angry. Why are you doing this? Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Why won’t you trust me?”
“I do trust you. That’s why I’m here.” He bent to kiss her, but she twisted her head away. She couldn’t allow it, not in front of the kids, not here, not now. But he didn’t seem to mind that his kiss landed high on her jaw instead of her lips. In fact, he wasn’t really at all interested in kissing, she realized even as his mouth brushed across her ear.
“I need your help, Cassie,” he whispered, and the urgency in his voice had nothing to do with need or desire. “Stay angry. Don’t show any surprise. When we leave, go inside the house and call Remy Sinclair. Tell him Jimmy’s not convinced that he can trust me and he’s insisting that I move to his place where he can keep tabs on me. Ask him what the hell I’m supposed to do now—and don’t tell anyone. It’s got to be a secret—just you, me and Sinclair, okay?”
Remy Sinclair. Susannah’s husband, Jolie’s friend and FBI agent. The muscles in Cassie’s stomach knotted, and her lungs grew too tight to breathe. It was Remy’s fault that Reid was in this mess, the FBI’s fault that the past two weeks had been so miserable. Damn them, what had they had done? What had they forced Reid to do? All this time, she had wondered if he was being coerced into working for Falcone, and she’d been right, except that it wasn’t his crooked boss doing the arm twisting but the damn government. They—the cops, the FBI—had put his life in danger.
Dazed and dumbfounded, she didn’t resist when he tried once more to kiss her. Standing limply, one hand clinging to his shirt, the other still wrapped tightly around the iron bar, she accepted his kiss and his tongue, and when he brought his hands to her face, she dam near purred and rubbed against him. When he drew back, though, with his teeth coming together on her lip, the little jolt of pain cleared the haze from her mind, reminded her of his admonition—Stay angry—and gave her the strength to shove him away. “No. No, don’t do this. I can’t...”
He looked dazed, stumbling back a step or two before catching himself. He reached out to touch her, but, nervously aware that Vince Cortese was watching with both interest and amusement, she slapped his hand away. “Come on, Cassie,” Reid coaxed, speaking in a voice loud enough for the other man to hear. “Don’t be this way.”
In an effort to hide the trembling that was rapidly spreading
through her entire body, she hugged herself tightly and focused her narrow scowl on him. “You made your choice two weeks ago when you went to work for that man. Go away, Reid. I don’t want you coming around here again.”
That made Vince laugh and propelled him into action. He slammed the trunk of the car, dusted his hands, then walked around to the driver’s side. “Come on, Donovan. We don’t have time for this.” He laughed again. “Don’t worry about Marilyn Pappano 227 it, kid. You want a woman, Jimmy’s got a lot of women. You don’t disappoint him, and maybe he’ll give you one.”
With the faint beginnings of a regretful smile, Reid gave her one last, lingering look, then walked away. He climbed into the car, slammed the door, and Vince drove away. She stared after them until the car was long out of sight.
“Cassie? Cassie, are you okay?”
Startled, she turned to find the kids straggling back into the classroom and Jaye, looking worried, a few feet behind her. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t, tried to breathe deeply but couldn’t do that, either. All she could do was stand there, numb, too worried to be relieved, frightened now in a way that she hadn’t been before. It was one thing for Reid to voluntarily take a job with Falcone, to place himself in the path of temptation. The danger there was to his reputation and his efforts to live a respectable life. It was another thing entirely to betray Jimmy, to take that job with the sole purpose of bringing him trouble. Jimmy Falcone killed people who caused him trouble.
Jaye was waiting for an answer, but all Cassie could do was stare at her, her fingertips touching her mouth, her reaction to Reid so strong that she swore she could still feel his mouth on hers. Then, with a great shudder, she lowered her hand and knotted it into a fist. “Yeah... No, I’m not. Can you watch my kids for a minute?”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked away, straight into the house and down the hall to Karen’s office. Jethro was asleep inside the door, his long black body filling half the available floor space. A blue-and-yellow quilt filled the other half, with Sean lying there. Behind her desk, Karen looked up and automatically smiled, then swiftly grew serious. “What’s up, Cassie?”
The Taming Of Reid Donovan Page 23